Out Of Sight, Out Of Heart
by Maple Fay
Summary: Margaret needs to work some things out. Hawkeye has a date he doesn't want to forget, ever. Takes place during 'Out Of Sight, Out Of Mind'.
1. Chapter 1

There weren't many things that could rattle Major Margaret Houlihan's mental composure.

Well, there _were_ the usual suspects such as lack of military discipline and basic manners, but as far as romantic flutterings of a heart and hippety-hops were concerned, she simply wasn't _that kind_ of person. Of course there have been some unusually cheery and-or romantic moments in her life since she met Donald, but even in the midst of lovely smiles, humming and highly inappropriate thoughts about the Lieutenant Colonel's athletic body she had managed to keep the very centre of her being untouched.

This time she could feel it breaking into thousands little pieces.

There was no obvious reason for her mouth going dry, her hands shaking and her head floating.

This simply _couldn't_ be a result of one temporarily blinded surgeon stating that he could recognize her perfume, could it?

Definitely not.

He did mean it as a joke, didn't he?

He _must have_!

Was it really so obvious, the fragrance? Margaret sniffed on the sleeve of her sweater, and suddenly felt a great urge to shower. Grabbing her robe, towel and a bar of grey soap, she stormed out of her tent and towards the showers.

She looked around the compound and noticed Bigelow talking to blindfolded Hawkeye near the mess tent; his hand was resting comfortably on her hip, and Margaret wondered whether his sense of touch improved the same way his hearing and smell had. What would it be like to be caressed by a man who can only rely on his touch to know the woman's body?, Margaret wondered briefly and kicked herself mentally for producing that kind of an image all the same. She was an engaged person! And besides, she didn't even like Pierce! What was there to like, honestly? A crooked smile? Jet-black hair, falling over his eyes in a untidy manner that made one want to reach out and push it away? Blue eyes, currently out of service, that could gaze in correspondence with the man's name? Skillful hands? Lean, yet muscular body?

Nothing to go crazy about whatsoever…

This was getting her nowhere, Margaret decided as she turned on the water and stepped under the relatively warm flow. She rubbed the soap vigorously against her skin, giving special attention to her neck and shoulders, not to leave any traces of perfume. Why couldn't she get over it? After all, he only said one stupid sentence, but it seemed to have triggered something in her brain, making her wind up more and more with every passing hour. The tension was almost impossible to bear. Again, the thoughts of her engagement crossed Margaret's mind, but they seemed pale and fragile compared to the storm raging through her heart right now.

Was it only a sheer sexual frustration? Nah, that couldn't be the reason, nor could the vulnerability of his present state. Something was pulling her towards this man, mesmerizing, making her forget about Donald, her engagement and any other obstacles.

Damn this man!

There must have been something that could be done about it, some kind of a pressure reliever. She only needed to find it.

Margaret was just starting to wash her hair when the doors to the tent opened to reveal Bigelow and Kellye, both dressed in robes, highly agitated by the conversation they were having.

"But you can't leave him there, all alone in the dark!" Kellye protested. "Don't you think it's cruel to cancel a date with a blinded man, and not tell him about it?"

Bigelow shook her head vigorously. "One, there'll be someone bringing him in, and when they've seen the lights are out in the supply tent, they'll probably take him right back. And two, he managed to talk me into it, but the only reason I agreed to meet him was to tell him it's all over between us."

"Why? What happened?"

"Remember that guy I've been meeting on my R&R's for the past five months? Well, he wrote to me today, saying that he loves me and would like to marry me when we return state side. I cannot say I'm passionately in love with him, but he's a good guy, and cares about me, which is a good enough reason for me to go steady with him. Hawkeye would never marry me, and as much as I like him, this is not what I hoped for …"

"I see," Kellye sighed, sitting down heavily. "But I still think it's unfair to let him wait for you in that tent."

"I _told_ you, he won't! We have this secret code, you see; I always come first, say, half past eight, and turn the lights on, but only in the very last section of the tent. Then he comes in, and I turn the lights off, and… well, you get the picture."

"This sounds kind of romantic," Kellye mused happily, and stood up as Margaret walked out of her compartment with a thoughtful look on her face. Bigelow turned bright red when she realized that her supervisor must have heard all of their conversation—funny she didn't bite her tongue when she first noticed her—and braced mentally for a serious tongue-whipping, but the Major seemed oblivious to everything, except of her thoughts running wild.

0o0o0o0o0o

"Is the light on?" Hawkeye whispered to his partner in crime and faithful guide, BJ Hunnicutt. The said man looked shyly inside to the supply tent, and noticed a faint light flickering against the back wall, and a couple of mattresses laid down in front of him, a blanket folded nicely upon them.

"It is," he answered curtly, amazed how nicely Hawkeye and the whichever-nurse-it-was managed to arrange their rendezvous. "When should I pick you up?"

"Let's say around ten," Hawkeye smiled widely as his friend helped him to sit down in the middle of an improvised bed. "Thanks, Beej."

"Anytime," the other surgeon murmured under his breath and left, closing the door behind him with a quiet 'click'.

Hawkeye nestled against the wall, tapping his fingers against his leg, and waited. A click in the back told him the lights have been turned off, and shortly afterwards light steps could be heard as somebody tiptoed to the door and pulled the lock in place. Hawkeye held his breath in anticipation, and after a short while was rewarded with a wonderful feeling of female hands resting on his shoulders as a pair of slim thighs straddled him.

"Hi," he whispered huskily, and was about to make a joke of a 'Long time no see' kind, but one delicate finger pressed to his lips stopped him mid-word. He smiled as two female hands pushed the robe off his shoulders, and moved his arms to encircle her waist.

He knew immediately this wasn't Bigelow.

He had held her like that far too many times to forget how she felt. The woman who was currently occupied with taking his tee off was a bit shorter than the one he was supposed to meet, had a smaller waist and slightly wider hips, which only gave her the more pleasurable feeling against him. He noted all those discrepancies with the plan in a fracture of second, and for a moment was unsure how to react. Whoever his lovely companion was, she wanted to remain anonymous, hence her silent pleading not to have any words during their intercourse. Was he supposed to go with the flow, enjoying the unexpected surprise, or should he rather behave in a gentlemanly manner and stop it before things got too far?

In that exact moment the woman on his lap nibbled gently on the skin of his neck, and he knew he couldn't have stopped it even if he wanted, which he most certainly didn't.

He wondered who she was as he returned the caress, fingers undoing the buttons of her shirt. He tried to smell her, but only detected the grey soap, a standard army issue. He moved his hands flat against her skin, listening to the small muffled sounds of pleasure she was making, but didn't recognize her by that mean either. Finally he freed her from her shirt and tee, and pulled her closer to his now naked chest, lips searching hers in the darkness.

Enlightenment.

There was no other word for what he felt when he tasted her.

Hawkeye Pierce was crazy about kisses. Sometimes he thought they turned him on more than the actual 'thing'. He remembered most of the women he enjoyed kissing in his life, of which the greater part consisted of three young ladies he'd dated back in the States. As for the ones he'd met in Korea, there was only one woman he added to his mental list, even though he only kissed her once. He remembered the sweet, vanilla-like taste of her lips, their softness, the eagerness in her kiss—and now he had it back, against his own mouth, and he was determined to get all he could from their time together.

For it would probably never happen again.

Pushing her gently against the mattress and leaning over her body, he promised himself he'd make it special for her. She wanted to remain an anonymous body in his arms, fine; but now that he _knew_ it was her, he'd treat her in a way no other woman could hope for.

And from the way she bit his shoulder at one point to stop herself from screaming, he could say he succeeded.

He didn't know how much time had passed before she sighed and stood up, the rustling around telling him she was picking up her clothes and putting them back on. Before she left, she bent over and pecked him on the lips. He smiled and deepened the kiss, holding onto her before she pulled away somewhat reluctantly, caressed his cheek with her delicate fingers and left, closing the door behind her soundlessly.

Hawkeye sighed and laid down, covering his blindfolded eyes with one arm.

How _exactly_ was he supposed to go on _now_?

0o0o0o0o0o

BJ opened the door hesitantly, afraid he might be interrupting something, but when he looked inside the only thing he saw was his best friend sitting calmly on the mattress, his clothes in slight disarray, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Hey," the part-time guide said, tapping Hawkeye's shoulder. "You're ready?"

"Yeah, sure," the other man said in an absentminded tone. BJ helped him up, and, of a sudden impulse, asked somewhat shyly:

"Was it any different?"

Hawkeye remained silent for a moment, before nodding firmly with a serious expression on his face.

"Unforgettable."

**TBC?...**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Thank you very much for all the reviews, they really keep me going ;) Seems I can't stop at only one chapter now, can I? Hope that you enjoy this installment, too :)

0o0o0o0o0o

Three days after Hawkeye's bandages have been removed, Bigelow approached him in the mess tent, in the middle of banter-like conversation with Margaret, BJ, and Potter. Poking his shoulder, she smiled casually. "Sorry about that thing earlier this week."

He smiled back and shrugged. "Not at all."

"Did you wait long?"

"No, not really."

"Good."

"Heard you're getting engaged. Congratulations." Kellye had told him about it, rather awkwardly, the previous day, apparently a little scared of his possible reaction, but he couldn't care less.

"Thanks," she answered hesitantly, but seeing that he wasn't about to complain or act all jealous at her she gave him one final smile and left. Hawkeye went back to his coffee, well aware of questioning glares he was getting from his friends. Unsurprisingly, it was Potter who broke the silence in the end.

"You seemed to have a go with that girl," he pointed out unaccusingly. "Too bad it didn't work out for the two of you."

"Well, maybe it wasn't meant to be," Hawkeye answered easily, sipping on his coffee. He could feel BJ's eyes on him, and knew his friend's thoughts at the moment were fixed on the identity of his 'date' he had very obviously met with the other night.

Margaret was devoting all of her attention to powdered eggs.

Well, since she wanted it that way…

"I'm due in post-op," he said, standing up and collecting his empty tray. "See you around, friends and neighbors."

After the Chief Surgeon left the tent, Potter turned to BJ with a slight frown on his face.

"I thought you said he had a date with her before?"

BJ shrugged, looking puzzled. "I _thought_ so."

"But it wasn't her?"

"It seems so."

"Honestly, I have no idea why those poor girls keep falling for him," Potter stated and got up. BJ followed, leaving Margaret alone at the table, which gave her an opportunity to forget the eggs, take a cup of coffee in her hands, and gaze off dreamily into space.

Anyone who'd see her now would probably think she was thinking about Donald.

She wouldn't correct them.

The truth was, the handsome Lieutenant Colonel hasn't appeared in her thoughts for the last week. And lo, the person that took his place occupied a whole lot of them.

She told herself it was just a thing, and that her feelings, her conscious, reasonable, adult like feelings had nothing to do with it.

Those explanations must have been made in some ancient language, for she couldn't possibly understand _or_ accept them.

"Margaret, can I sit with you?..." a whiny voice sounded in her ear.

And then there was Frank.

She rolled her eyes and moved to the side, closer to the end on the bench. After his initial attempt to remain cool about her engagement, Frank started pestering her with great intensity, which didn't do her any good. His constant advances, pleading to be allowed to enter her tent at night, unceasing following her every step—had she been sure you wouldn't get her into trouble, she'd punched him hard long ago.

"What is it, Frank?" she snapped, looking away from him. Through a window in the tent canvas she saw Hawkeye, strolling across the compound towards the post-op; Ginny Miles, the new nurse, stopped him on his way and started to talk, a pleasant smile on her face, her body language all turned to 'take me, I'm yours' mode. Margaret gritted her teeth.

"I wanted to tell you how happy I am we will share the night shift at the post-op today, Margaret," Frank continued in a desperate, shaky voice beside her ear, while restlessly stuffing his mouth with suspiciously looking food, but the Major didn't hear a word of it. Her eyes were fixed on the scene outside the mess tent; Ginny's slim body leaning unconsciously towards the Chief Surgeon, one hand in her hair, curling a strand around her fingers, half-closed eyelids and a suggestive smile…

He wasn't buying it, Margaret realized.

Usually it didn't take long for an attractive nurse to bring a crooked smile on Hawkeye's face, make him take his hands out of his pockets and start responding to her—but this time he was as indifferent as Sophie might have been to such advances. He listened to Ginny for a minute or two with a polite smile, and then answered her in one short, simple sentence that made her close her mouth instantly and walk away much faster than she came. Margaret released the breath she was unconsciously holding, and stood up, taking her tray and leaving Frank mid-banter, with absolutely no idea what he's been talking about anyway.

Of course, that was nothing, she reasoned as she walked out of the mess, hands in her pockets, heading for the supply tent to take inventory of syringes, or do whatever would give her a pretext for spending time there, where she could _remember_. He might have been tired, or not partial to girls like Ginny in the first place; why should she try to connect his behavior to the night they spent together? No visible connection between the two events whatsoever.

She secretly wished there was one.

Sometimes she'd muster over telling him the truth, maybe turning it into a prank and making fun of him, but the feeling passed in a fracture of a second, and she was no longer sure she'd be able to pull it through. She chose to remain indifferent, and keep as big a distance between them as possible.

Anyway, he probably had no idea who he'd spent that night with. Maybe Bigelow's words came as a surprise to him, and he only _made_ it look like he knew all along? Yes, that was possible. Unlike, but possible.

No point for going through this again, Margaret decided as she abandoned the idea of yet another stock taking, entered her tent instead and yawned. She had had one night shift the previous night, and since _this_ night she would have to face Frank as her accompanying doctor, she'd better get some sleep while she could.

0o0o0o0o0o

"Attention all personnel! Incoming wounded! Medical team one, please report to the OR immediately!"

Margaret jumped to her feet, awoken from a rather intensive dream, and ran for it, not bothering checking her appearances or tying her shoes. She reached the OR within seconds, and almost bumped into Hawkeye who was already scrubbing.

"Careful now, we wouldn't want _more_ personnel out in this difficult time," he joked, but she could tell he was furious.

"Something wrong?" she asked, getting into a set of scrubs. He snorted and shook his head.

"Frank's down with a severe case of _indigestion_." Sarcasm was dripping off his every word. "He won't be able to operate, nor to take his shift tonight. Guess that means you're stuck with me, Major," he added, and entered the operating room, leaving her alone with her heart pounding wild. This was good—no Frank always meant satisfaction of a kind—but also implied she'd have to endure Pierce's presence around herself for some hours: the situation she was desperately trying to avoid for the past week, discreetly changing the duty roster so that they wasn't listed together. Now was the time to face him, and her feelings about the whole situation.

Some inner voice told her it was going to be a _long_ night.

0o0o0o0o0o

They had a tension pneumothorax patient coming in just before one hundred hours. BJ and Potter had already retired when the main surgical session ended two hours before, and so it was dead-tired Hawkeye who put the chest tube in, attempting to force the collapsed lung to re-expand. Margaret assisted him, seeing dark circles flying in front of her eyes, and hoped the patient made it through the night. If they managed to stabilize him, she might even be able to get some sleep.

Before they were done, it was almost three in the morning.

The post-op reminded the Major of Hampton beach in August—there were no empty beds, no chairs, no nothing, every possible flat surface being occupied by this or that patient. At times like this, Margaret really _did_ hate the war.

Hawkeye checked on the patients, giving Margaret some last minute instructions, and slid heavily down against the wall, sitting in the only available corner of the room. Margaret hesitated for the briefest moment, forcing herself to be sensible—after all, if she made her avoiding him too obvious, it might give him a wrong (or not exactly wrong) impression of her feelings. They were two grownups, and as far as she was concerned they were perfectly capable of being civil towards one another.

Having this problem sorted—theoretically at least—Margaret sat down next to Hawkeye, and propped her head against the wall. She could feel waves of dizziness washing over her as sleep took over, making her body grow limp and her head slide onto the Chief Surgeon's shoulder. Hawkeye tensed and looked at Margaret disbelievingly, but as he noticed she was already asleep, he simply put an arm around her waist, hugging her closer so that her head moved from his shoulder to his chest. He inhaled the smell of her hair and perfume, smiled at the thought of grey soap, and closed his eyes, allowing himself to drift into a light slumber in the still of the night.

0o0o0o0o0o

She was warm, enveloped in a feeling of being safe, protected, and loved. She never wanted to move from wherever she was, but the reality started to get onto her: there were patients to look after, she was supposed to get up and change some I.V.s, no matter how much nicer it would be to stay here… where _was_ here, anyway? She moved gently against the softness under her cheek, and slid her hand down just a bit, to encounter…

A belt buckle.

Margaret's eyes snapped open, but she was too afraid to move at the moment. It took her a couple of seconds to realize she's been lying with her head across Hawkeye's chest, and that her left hand have traveled downwards across his abdomen, and now rested, somewhat teasingly, just over the line of his hips. Margaret's heart started to pound and she swallowed hard, wondering whether he had noticed, and what he thought when…

"Go back to sleep, Margaret," she heard him murmur against her hair, and almost jumped as his hand caressed her back reassuringly. "You've only been out for ten minutes."

"What if there's an emergency?" she tried to argue with him, his touch already doing miracles to her body.

"I'll wake you up, probably not too gently," he assured her, and casually moved her left hand from its resting place to his waist, causing her to nestle further into his embrace. "Sleep now, you've had a hard day."

She knew she shouldn't listen to him, and, most importantly, that she should never allow him to touch her like this, but she was much too tired to argue. She sighed against his chest, inhaling his cologne, sweat and masculine scent that was _him_, and allowed herself to be lulled to sleep by the soothing strokes of his hand against her back.

Hawkeye looked down at the woman sleeping peacefully in his arms, and felt a great rush of unhappiness running through his veins.

_I have to tell her I know, 'cause she never will_, was his last conscious thought before the sleepiness took hold of him yet again.

0o0o0o0o0o

**A/N:** Liked it? Hated it? Please give me some feedback :)


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Hi guys! Thank you very much for all the reviews, I really appreciate them :) At first I planned on giving you one chapter every two days (I'm up to fifth one as of now), but since I got so many compliments on the last one, I decided to update more often :D

Short as it is, I'm kind of glad of how this chapter turned out. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing.

0o0o0o0o0o

_Hawkeye Pierce's Mental Diary: Entry __#3582_

_Three days since the night in the post-op. __No changes in mutual behavior whatsoever. Darn._

Hawkeye grunted to himself as he waited his turn in the mess tent, suspiciously eyeing unidentified lumps of supposed food. His thoughts went back to the night shift when they woke up, limbs entangled, after an hour of uneasy sleep, and parted without a word of explanation, despite Hawkeye's firm resolution to talk the whole thing over. After their shift was done, he suggested grabbing some coffee from the mess tent, but Margaret cut him short and wandered off to her quarters without any further ado.

Which left him alone, confused, and awfully tired.

He tried approaching her a couple times more, always on neutral ground, always in an inoffensive way, even if he did disguise his intentions as jokes and saucy comments. He hoped she'd know the truth.

She probably did, but she pushed him away every time he tried to get closer to her.

Somewhere deep inside he understood there was nothing he could possibly expect from her. She came to him, true, but only when he couldn't see her, and hadn't he remembered their first kiss so well, her identity would have remained hidden. She was engaged, to a man pretty much close to an ideal she had held in her heart for years now. She hated many things about _him_, which meant there was also a possibility that she regretted their intercourse in the first place.

Yes, the picture wasn't actually painted in roses and whites—but Hawkeye didn't think it was all black-and-grey, either.

The point was to make Margaret see it this way.

Piece of cake.

Last decade's cake, to be exact.

Hawkeye collected his tray and moved to join BJ, Frank, Potter and Father Mulcahy at the table. Minutes later, in the midst of a football-related conversation, Margaret approached them with her lunch, and took the only available place, on Hawkeye's left side. His whole body hummed at her closeness, nostrils flaring as he smelled her perfume (he really did have a fetish on this particular fragrance), but he focused on his food, never as much as acknowledging her presence.

"They'll be sending the pneumothorax patient out later this afternoon," she told him in a perfectly official voice. "I thought you might want to take one final look at him."

Now _this_ wasn't what he expected from her.

"I guess I might want that," he answered slowly, not sure where she was heading.

"Do you mind if I came? After all, we've done the procedure together."

"Not at all." This was so unlike her, at least the most recent version of her. Who are, woman, and what have you done with Margaret Houlihan?!, he wanted to shout, but managed to control himself. Instead, he stood up, and put his hardly touched food away where it belonged—the rubbish bin.

Following Margaret through the compound, he found himself in the pre-op (since the post-op was still Hampton-like), facing Private Brown, the nineteen-year-old whose right lung chose to collapse after a piece of shrapnel invaded his chest. The boy looked much better now than he did when Hawkeye worked on him three days ago, and his vitals were stable enough to ensure him a safe passage to Tokyo, or wherever the wise guys up there chose to send him to.

"Well, the worst is over now," Hawkeye informed the patient putting the stethoscope away and making way for Margaret to check the blood pressure. "You just take it easy for a while, okay?"

"Thank you, Doctor," Private Brown smiled and shook his hand, before the orderlies took his stretcher outside. Hawkeye followed him with his eyes until he disappeared behind the corner, then turned to face Margaret, busy with filling the final data into the patient's card.

"So," he said, trying to sound as casual as possible, "you reckon we could talk?"

She eyed him coldly, pen tapping on her pad with menacing intensity. "Talk? Whatever could we possibly talk about?"

Hawkeye shrugged, digging his hands into his pockets in order to stop himself from doing something stupid.

Like, say, pulling Margaret in for a kiss that would leave both of them breathless and wanting more they could ever get, instead of acting like a responsible person and discussing their feelings beforehand.

"I just thought there was quite some… unspoken tension between us, and since you finally started to notice my existence, it might be just the right time we spoke about it."

She snorted disdainfully and shook her head in amazement. "What do you mean, _Captain_? I just tried to be civil towards you, and you've obviously jumped to some uncalled-for conclusions. Have you stopped getting enough attention from my staff, since you turned onto pestering _me_?!" She exhaled and punched her hand against the pad. "Damn it, Pierce, why do you always assume you can get into my head and analyze me whenever you feel like it?! You have no _right_ to do it! I owe you nothing, I never had!"

She was turning redder and raising her voice every second, and he just about had it. He expected denial, yes, but not raging hatred. He held his eyes steadily fixed upon her, arms crossed over his chest, and fought with himself not to start yelling back at her.

And then, when he saw her eyes starting to glisten, and heard the shakiness in her voice as she looked back at him accusingly, it dawned on him.

Standing up, he walked over to her very, very slowly and took the pad away, towering over Margaret in a slightly intimidating way.

He was surprised to hear his own voice, quiet, but even, as he spoke softly, almost kindly:

"I guess you'd prefer it if I _stayed_ blind, wouldn't you?"

She backed away, perplexed. "Why would I—"

"Because then you could look at me as often as you wanted to, without taking the risk of seeing your own emotions reflected in my eyes."

The doors slammed hard behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Thanks for all the reviewers, public and private, for keeping me going! I'll do my best to keep it up ;) Now, on with the next chapter…

0o0o0o0o0o

The atmosphere in the camp in the following days wasn't much better than that of an ocean during a thunderstorm.

Hawkeye could be seen walking around with his arm loosely wrapped around Ginny Miles' shoulders a couple of times.

Margaret put four nurses on report, and rewrote the duty roster so that nobody had a free weekend for the next moth or so.

Hawkeye took greater care of treating Frank's indigestion than he ever had with any of his patients.

Radar had been repeatedly scolded by the blonde Major for inexistent offences, and almost had a nervous breakdown when she threatened to remove his animals from the compound.

Three nurses requested transfers.

The rumor, brought in by Radar, had it that one Lieutenant Colonel Donald Penobscott had had enough after three straight days of being shouted at on the phone, and wrote to Margaret demanding his engagement ring to be returned. From that moment on, the said piece of jewelry disappeared from the Major's finger. Nobody was daft enough to try and comment on the fact.

The war had never been scarier.

On the fifth day since the Pandemonium decided to lodge at the 4077th, Colonel Potter received a phone call of a highly unpleasant kind, one that he preferred not to have by any chance.

This time he breathed out in relief and muttered to himself, "Finally!"

The staff meeting has been arranged on the spot.

As all his officers gathered in his office, the Colonel adjusted the glasses on his nose and cleared his throat. "The aid station is short of medical staff again, so I'm sending off one surgeon and one nurse. Pierce, you'll be off with the Major at six hundred hours tomorrow. And if you wanted to ask whether you could take Nurse Miles instead, the answer is 'negative'." He looked at his Chief Surgeon and Head Nurse over his glasses, noticing the silent fury rising steadily in both of them. This _had_ to end, or the two would inevitably put the camp on fire. "You seem to have some unsettled business—do us all a favor and settle it while you're there. Working your butts off may do you just the right thing. Dismissed."

Hawkeye did not move until everyone else left the office. When the doors closed behind Radar, he slipped off the side-table he was sitting on, and silently motioned towards the liquor cabinet. Potter nodded, knowing better than to deny him the release.

"You'd better start filling in a requisition form, or whatever you need to fill in to order two new staff members," the dark-haired man pointed out sarcastically, downing his whiskey in one gulp. Potter shook his head with a disapproving smirk.

"You two _are_ going to work things out," he said firmly, drinking some of the liquor Hawkeye poured for him. "What is it with you anyway? I know you're not exactly the friendliest of people, but can't you at least act decent enough not to make all our lives a mess?"

Hawkeye shook his head, pouring himself another shot. "I tried, Colonel, but she simply wouldn't go for it."

"Is it something you've done?"

"I'm afraid it's something _we_ did, both, although she would never admit being part of it," Hawkeye murmured, regretting his words and feeling much better all the same. Potter didn't ask, he simply nodded in understanding and patted his Chief Surgeon on the shoulder.

"Look, son, I've seen women and their denial routine far too many times, and I know what's going to happen if you don't work it out. A pacifist like yourself shouldn't be willing to bring something much worse than war upon his colleagues, you know."

Hawkeye groaned and combed his hair with his fingers. "Do you honestly think I'm enjoying this little display of hatred? Well, I'm not. I'd give anything to end it."

"Then do it! I don't care how or by what means, but do it! Talk to her, or don't talk to her, whichever comes handy, but don't let this destroy what you already have. Hawkeye," the older man smiled in a fatherly manner and put his hand on the surgeon's sleeve, "as far as I know, people had been taking bets about you and Houlihan getting together since before I came here. Don't let many good people lose their money. Especially since your CO is one of those people."

"I am one too, sir," Radar said, slipping his head through the door and disappearing the next second. Hawkeye felt a sudden need to laugh.

"You really think I should go for it?" he asked his CO, who was grinning madly after Radar's unexpected entrance. Potter nodded firmly.

"Absolutely. No matter which way it turns out, we could all profit by you two clearing the air between yourselves. Think about it while you're at the aid station."

Hawkeye nodded, not exactly convinced, but not wishing to argue. "I'll try."

"Good," Potter concluded the conversation, sending his best surgeon away to pack his things before the trip to a not-so-nice part of Korea.

0o0o0o0o0o

"Wonderful morning, isn't it?"

Silence.

"They should have given us a better jeep, though. We'll both be shaken like two giant martinis before we get there."

Still nothing.

"You know you look pretty with that distant look on your face?"

"Pierce."

"Yes, ma'am?"

"If you say one more word to me that doesn't deal with our present assignment, I'll tie you up to the back of this jeep and let you shake freely _over the road_, understood?"

Silence.

0o0o0o0o0o

They arrived in the apogee of a flow of wounded coming in; a whole division had been facing the Chinese at a hill ten miles away. Hawkeye went straight in, barely having time to scrub, and before Margaret reached him he was already working on his second patient. She fell into his rhythm easily, having done this so many times before. They really worked together like a well-oiled machine, she thought with a distracted smile, remembering their first time at this station.

Why things couldn't always be so simple? They were perfect together when they worked, at least if he knew better than to start with his stupid remarks again.

They were also perfect together in one dark tent, a treacherous voice inside her head put in, as if she could ever forget about it. She groaned inwardly, passing him the required instrument, and screamed uncontrollably as a shell exploded nearby.

"Calm down, Margaret," he said evenly as he worked on. "I don't think they'll come much closer."

She grunted and furrowed her brow, trying to make herself act decent, but failed miserably. As much as she loved the army, she hated the _war fighting_ part of this existence. She concentrated on the patient, but kept shivering every time an explosion could be heard. Hawkeye felt her uneasiness, and fought the urge to reach out over the patient's body and kiss her brow, comfort her, make sure she was okay. He hoped he'd have a chance to do it after they were done with the patients—unless she put her defenses up once again, which she was likely to do. There were so many things he couldn't yet understand about her and wanted to ask her about, to learn, to know her better…

_If_ he had the chance.

They finished work at two hundred hours, both of them dirty, hungry and tired, and dragged themselves into a small room in the back of the station, where a couple of blankets were available for them to wrap into and get some sleep. The shelling went on, but didn't get much closer since they were operating. Hawkeye took up one of the blankets and sat down in the middle of the room, giving Margaret an opportunity to choose her place. Just as he expected, she picked up two blankets and moved as far away from him as she could, arranging a sleeping place for herself by the furthest wall, and lying down with her back to him, without as much as a 'goodnight'.

He sighed and put an arm under his head, lying flat on his back and gazing at the ceiling. He wasn't sleepy, though his whole body screamed with exhaustion. He looked over at Margaret, noticing how she put her arms around herself in an attempt to calm down, and sighed. That woman could be a flame of passion at one time, and an Ice Queen a moment later. She was an unanswered question, a riddle he'd love to solve. Closing his eyes, his mused over what their relationship could be like. He was about to dive into the welcoming pool of mildly erotic fantasies, which included the two of them and some locations on the compound, when another shell went off—right over their heads, it seemed—and his eyes snapped over, an instant worry about the woman on the other side of the room obscuring all other thoughts.

"Margaret," he called out quietly, noticing she had curled up in a tight ball, and knowing how much she hated shellings. "C'mere."

She did not move, except for shivering terribly and almost jumping up when another bomb exploded quite close. Cursing under his breath, Hawkeye stood up and moved to lie down beside her, covering her with half of his blanket and wrapping one arm around her waist. For a couple of seconds she struggled silently to get away from him, until yet another explosion sent her screaming wildly and holding onto his hand. He propped himself on one elbow, spooned against her, placed his mouth close to her ear and whispered small soothing words. After a long, painful moment, filled with uncontrollable sobs—on her side—and waiting to be punched mercilessly for crossing the line—on his side—he felt her relax against his body, and one small hand moved reluctantly to lace her fingers through his, pressing his hand to her body just below her breasts.

He kissed her hair gently, knowing all too well she was crying.

"Remind me," he whispered in a soft tone, "why can't we keep it this way?"

She shook her head vigorously, hiding her face from him. "It's no good. We shouldn't—"

"Margaret," he interrupted, gently stroking her hair, "you know I'm not into this whole 'should' thing, don't you? Sure you do. Now, may I tell you a bedtime story?"

She looked up at him with fatigue-rimmed eyes, surprised of the sudden outcome, and nodded hesitantly. He hugged her even closer, placing his chin in the crook of her neck.

"See, once there was this woman—a beautiful, strong, passionate thing—whom I wanted to know better. Guess I was kind of fascinated by her, what's with her being all different from women I've met before. But, you see, she had built this great big wall around herself, in order not to allow anybody close to herself.

"At first I thought I could get to her by either making her laugh, or driving her crazy. Proud to say I succeeded in causing the emotions to rise, but I still wasn't any closer to really _touching_ her. And then, one night, she came to me of her own will." He untangled his hand from hers, and started stroking her shirt-covered arm in slow movements. "For a second there I hoped it would be enough. Knowing that I had her, if only for a moment, hoping that maybe a part of her was feeling what I felt. And guess what? It wasn't enough. I know there's this great gap between us, and that it might take a long time to work over our differences, but the more I think about it, the more willing I am to give it a try." He paused, and smiled against her hair.

"What do you think, Major? _Should_ I go for it?"

He raised his upper body an inch or two to look her in the face, and found her sleeping soundly, relaxed in his embrace. Perfect. She was trusting, sweet, and willing to be close to him when she was asleep; denying, furious and hostile when awake.

"There's something seriously wrong here," he murmured to himself, before finally giving up to exhaustion and falling asleep, his arm still hooked around her waist.


	5. Chapter 5

"Why are we stopping?" she asked, alerted, when he pulled over to the side of the road and turned off the engine. "Surely we don't have to; we'll reach the camp in a—"

"I'd like to talk to you before we get there," he interrupted calmly, taking her hand in his, eyes fixed on some point in front of him. "May we talk for a moment?"

She swallowed hard and nodded, looking down on her lap. "I guess so."

"Good."

After a couple of minutes, she rubbed her thumb against his fingers to get his attention. "Are we going to talk eventually?"

"Do you think you'd be able to face me in full light, and-slash-or when you're awake?"

"I'm not sure," she answered curtly, but didn't move her hand away from his grasp. He took it for a good sign.

"Margaret, I do realize there would be certain drawbacks of continuing…, whatever you want to call this thing we're having, but don't you think the qualities might outweigh them?"

She shook her head, defeated, and finally looked at him. His heart nearly broke at the sadness in her eyes. "I _want_ to think that, Hawkeye, but I'm terribly confused. I feel like I'm losing myself in it, and I'm not sure this is the good thing…"

"What if I promised to help you find whatever you feel like losing? We can take things slow, Margaret, just go with the flow and see what happens—"

"Would you mind if we kept it a secret, at least until we know whether there's a chance for us to keep it up?" she interrupted, slightly flushed. "After everything what happened—Frank, Donald, the lot—I wouldn't like the whole camp to see me as some crazed femme fatale."

" 'Course," he answered simply, squeezing her hand gently. "But you do realize those are extremely intelligent people?" He wondered whether he should tell her about the bets, but wisely decided to keep that one to himself. "They would know something's going on between us, even if only by the fact that there won't be the whole thunder-and-lightning thing going on anymore," he joked, and was rewarded with a beautiful, if still a little shy smile. Feeling quite emboldened, he leaned over and turned her face towards him, planting a short, firm kiss on her lips. She sighed against his mouth and kissed him back, careful, probing, but growing bolder with every passing second.

When they finally came up for air, he grinned triumphantly and stroked her hair, loving the way she leaned into his hand. "See? That wasn't so bad, was it?"

She pretended to think about it, arms crossed and brow furrowed, before nodding her head thoughtfully. "I guess it'll linger, provided we exercised it some more."

Hawkeye laughed so hard he almost fell out of the jeep. Laying his head on the steering wheel, he shot her a wicked sideways glance. "So, you wanna make out in the car, or should we simply get home and slip into your tent?"

"Pierce!" she scolded him in mocked horror, but didn't protest as he turned the engine back on and started off at high speed, his hand resting gently on her thigh.

0o0o0o0o0o

The nurses' transfers filed in that week had been cancelled the very next day.

Ginny Miles handed her transfer request over the following week. It was granted instantly.

0o0o0o0o0o

"Hawkeye… Please, I can't—"

"Hush now," he whispered against her skin, smirking at such an obvious sign of what his touch was doing to her. "I vaguely remember somebody saying something about taking things slow..."

"How can I take anything slow when you're doing... _this_…?"

"Well, excuse me, Major, but _I_ wasn't the one losing my temper in such an improper place—" He knew he would never look at the good old scrub room the same way again, even if they'd eventually paused and taken their gradually intensifying caresses to a more suitable spot.

Which could be, basically, anywhere at all.

It's been almost six weeks since their so-called field trip to the aid station, and the overall quality of camp life has improved greatly. There was no more shouting, no more unfairly assigned duties, no more fiery arguments in the mess tent that could make the assembled company lose their appetites faster than they usually did. Instead, all the officers (except Frank Burns) presented charmingly good moods, which pumped up the morale quite high.

People like Radar, who suddenly won large sums of money, were particularly glad of the turn of events, but pretended nothing happened, knowing better than to comment on it.

Of course, there still were the days when one Major Houlihan would chase one Captain Pierce across the compound and yell at him on top of her lungs, the said Captain Pierce shouting back and bantering with her for an hour or so, but eventually they would always make up, and… relax.

Yes, there was definitely much relaxing going on recently, Hawkeye mused as he pulled away, reluctantly, from Margaret's soft, warm skin, helped her up to her feet, finally relieving her of her scrubs (taking them off had been the pretext for their feverish making up in the first place), and kissed her longingly one last time.

"Remind me, why are we no longer taking night shifts together?" he asked with an expression of a poor, rain-soaked puppy, that did wonders to her. She laughed and ruffled his hair.

"To avoid these kinds of situations," she said pointedly, and put her white coat on. "Go get some sleep, you've been working for hours."

"Permission to sleep at your place?"

"Why would you want to do that?" she raised her eyebrows, knowing the answer by heart but still eager to hear it.

"It smells like you, and helps me get through the nights when you're not with me," he explained, still feeling kind of embarrassed, admitting those kinds of feelings. Margaret smiled at him—oh well, if it made her happy to see him blush, he might as well endure it from time to time.

She would make it up to him later, he was sure: he'd already been down this road.

"I still have half an hour to go," she told him now, checking her watch. "Care to join me while I grab myself some coffee?"

"With pleasure," he answered, opening the door for her. They put their hands in their respective pockets; not touching in public was one of the first rules set by Margaret before they even reached the camp six weeks ago. Sometimes Hawkeye could literally feel his hands itching for her warmth, but hey, since she made the rules he wasn't stupid enough to break them.

They walked slowly, enjoying each other's company as long as they could, until the front lights of an incoming jeep blinded them for a moment, making them stop halfway. Margaret put a hand up in front of her face and tried to make something out through sharp, white light, while somebody, seemingly a tall, plump man, climbed out of the car.

"Margaret?" a bellowing voice sounded as the driver turned the engine, and the lights, off. "Is that really you?"

The Major blinked to get the brightness off her eyes, and suddenly her face turned into the brightest smile Hawkeye has ever seen.

"General Ackman!" she ran towards the man and hugged him with all her strength, while he picked her up easily and turned around, before kissing her soundly on both cheeks. "I can't believe it's you, sir! It's been—"

"Too long, my dear," he interrupted, stroking her cheek in a familiar way. "You look stunning! Told you you'd become even more beautiful with time passing."

"Thank you, sir," she beamed at him, holding his hands in hers, squeezing them affectionately. "Are you going to stay long?"

"No, I'm afraid; I only have a couple of days to visit all MASH units in Korea, but I'll be back in Tokyo for the next weekend—can you spare a couple of days to spend your R&R with me?"

"Absolutely!" she gave him another grin. "You have to tell me everything!"

"And vice versa, my dear. It's really been too long; I should've come earlier…" he shook his head sadly, but cheered up very quickly. "Now tell me, what we you up to without me to take care of you? Broke many hearts?"

Margaret blushed furiously. "Well, as a matter of fact… Sir, I would like you to meet—"

She turned back to where Hawkeye was standing a mere moment before, only to find the spot empty. All of her radiant joy was suddenly gone.

Biting her lip, she turned back to the General with an apologetic smile. "Never mind. Shall I show you to your quarters?..."

0o0o0o0o0o

"Are you going to tell me what happened?"

"No." A gulp of gin going down, another glass poured.

"Why are you staying here tonight?"

"Can't a man spend a night in his own bunk? Get off me, Hunnicutt, I'm warning you." A gulp.

"Since when are we on last name basis?"

"Since you started pestering me! Back off, I'm telling you."

"Hawk, you've got to give me something here! What happened? Is something wrong with Margaret?"

A minute of hostile, tensed silence. "Margaret's fine."

Another glass of gin. And another.

"Finest kind of fine, I'd say."

0o0o0o0o0o

**A/N:** Now that's a turnover! Stay tuned, all questions will be answered!


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Thank you for all the reviews, PMs and wonderful support you gave me. I hope you're going to like this chapter—I feel like I'm slowly coming to and ending of this story, but there's still plenty to write, so stay tuned!

0o0o0o0o0o

BJ walked into the mess tent the following morning, rubbing his eyes in a fruitless attempt to clear his head off. He'd spend the better part of the night trying to calm Hawkeye down, or force him to quit drinking, preferably both. He'd lied if he said he succeeded. When the Chief Surgeon finally collapsed at three in the morning, it was because of physical exhaustion, not thanks to his best friend's persuasive skills. BJ didn't sleep well through the rest of the night, worried that Hawkeye might wake up, go and do something stupid to himself or whoever was responsible for his state. In the morning, when he was due on post-op duty, he checked on his sleeping friend one last time and left, heavyhearted, to check whether the food has by any chance improved through the night.

It hasn't.

BJ groaned at the sight of powdered eggs and half-raw, greasy bacon, took his tray with an unhappy look on his face, and went to sit across from Colonel Potter, who nodded briefly at him, not wanting to lose focus on his food. Losing focus might mean actually starting to _register_ the taste and smell.

They sat together in silence for a while, until the doors opened and a plump, friendly-looking man with General's insignia came through. He looked around, spotted the Colonel and came over, smiling broadly, the wrinkles around his eyes giving him the look of a 'dear ol' uncle'.

"Colonel Potter?" he asked cordially and drew out his hand. "I'm Ackman, General Richard Ackman, and I'm here to see my girl."

"Nice to meet you, General, Sherman Potter is the name," the CO answered, shaking the proffered hand. "Pardon my asking, but… Whom are you referring to as 'your girl'?"

General Ackman beamed at him with the most un-generally expression BJ had ever seen—the one of a small boy on Christmas morning.

"Why, Colonel, I've only _had_ one girl in my whole life: my dear little Maggie!"

"But you sure had many women, sir," Margaret interrupted, approaching them with two mugs of coffee and taking a seat next to the General, who put a hand over hers in a protective gesture. BJ noticed Margaret looked pale and tired, but her eyes were bright, and she was smiling, so he dropped the thought.

He noted, on the other hand, the possible reason for Hawkeye's behavior.

"Shut up, young lady! You're not too old for being put across my knee and taught the proper way in which a sublime woman like yourself should behave," Ackman said, watching Margaret closely. "Are you feeling better now?"

"Yes, sir, thank you, it was nothing—just a small headache."

"Poor thing came to my tent right after her shift," the General informed both men, stroking Margaret's hair in a fatherly manner. "We haven't seen each other for… How long, Maggie?"

"Thirteen years, sir."

"Thirteen years…" the old man mused, his hand on Margaret's shoulder. She nodded, and proceeded to explain.

"General Ackman, while still a Major, had been stationed in a military base together with my father. We came there when I was three, moved away five years later, and during that time I've grown accustomed to calling him 'Uncle', or 'Grandpa'. He practically raised me up, what with my parents being so busy, father having his assignments, mother working as a secretary for one General, since she'd been discharged when she had me… We haven't seen together since I went to high school; before that we sometimes managed to meet at the Thanksgiving, or Christmas, or my birthday. I had no idea the General was inspecting the MASHes in Korea, and almost had a stroke when I saw him here last night," she finished, smiling brightly at the old man, who answered her with the same expression.

"We've talked all morning. Seems my Maggie has grown, and no longer is this small, skinny girl who'd climb the tallest tress, tear up her dresses and bruise her knees, huh? But it's great to see her all the same."

"Thank you, sir," she blushed, obviously ashamed of her childhood reminiscences, and turned to Colonel Potter. "Sir, permission to take two days of R&R next weekend? I'd like to spend some time with the General in Tokyo, please."

"Permission granted," Potter smiled at her. "As long as we get to hear some more stories of your bold escapades, Major."

"Sir!" she shook her head in mock shock, but the expression faded quickly, replaced by sudden paleness, and glassiness in her eyes. The general took her hands, his face full of concern.

"Are you alright, Maggie?" he asked, wiping some perspiration off her brow. Margaret nodded, still pale, and took a couple of shaky breaths.

"I'm fine, sir… just a little dizzy."

"You should go and get some rest, child. I'm leaving in a couple of hours anyway, and I need to talk to your CO before that. We'll see each other next week. Now go, sleep—that's an order!"

As Margaret left the tent, grumbling under her breath about being treated like a child all over again, General Ackman stood up from his bench and adjusted the belt on his generous belly.

"I'd say it's time for some grownups talk, Colonel. I'll meet you in your office in a moment, but first let me use at illustrious facility of yours. Gentlemen," he made a small bow and strolled away towards the latrine in a jolly fashion. Potter followed him with an approving gaze.

"Seems like a nice guy, despite being a general," he noted, finishing off his coffee. BJ sighed and shook his head tiredly.

"Nice he is, but he sure sent our Chief Surgeon into jeopardy."

"What do you mean?"

"Hawkeye came in last night awfully sour, and acted as if he was more dehydrated than our milk. He didn't tell me what happened, but my best guess is he must have seen some affectionate greeting Margaret gave to the General, and before she could give him any explanations he assumed it was yet another—let's hope Margaret never finds out I said that—'Hotlips deal'."

"Oh, dear," Potter furrowed his brow. "Where is he now?"

"Sleeping off the re-hydration."

"Oh. Try talking to him when he wakes up, won't you?"

BJ shook his head. "I'm due on post-op."

"Well, let's just hope they won't run into each other before the General leaves the camp."

With this they parted, worried looks upon their faces.

0o0o0o0o0o

The said Chief Surgeon woke up around noon, head pounding, his mouth a desert filled with vile taste, and for a blessed minute or two he had no idea what had caused all this. Then, in a painful bliss, it dawned on him, and he groaned, rubbing his eyes with his fists. He fell back, and fixed his gaze on a worn-out canvas.

He didn't like to admit it, but he had to—he was hurt.

After all that happened between them, he had hoped there would be no more generals claiming their rights to Margaret. No more 'friends of old', dropping in for a nightcap in her tent, no more R&Rs spent with men other than himself. Seeing her in the arms of another man, smiling at him, letting him kiss her, nearly made him have a fit.

Was there no chance for him having _all_ of her? Why was her past always getting in between them?

Blindly he banged his fist against the rant of his bunk and hissed through his teeth.

"Be careful, you'll need those for work later today."

He moved his gaze from the ceiling and met her eyes. She was standing in the doorway, looking pale and weary, her hair pulled back in a ponytal, warm zipped-up blazer gently hugging her curvacious body—he was even more angry at her now, mesmerized by the way she still managed to look stunning after a sleepless night… and worried, for he knew one night shift couldn't have done her so much harm.

He voiced only the first feeling, sarcasm dripping off his every word. "Since when are you so caring?"

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Where did you go yesterday? I wanted to—"

"What, introduce me to your friend, the General?" he snapped, closing his eyes in a manner of a stubborn child. It hurt him to see her so weak, but some mean part of his soul wanted to cause her pain, to make her feel as miserable as he was, instead of giving in to compassion. He didn't hear anything for a long while, and thought she'd gone away—when her voice sounded out again, much closer, he almost jumped off the cot.

"As a matter of fact, I did. General Ackman was like a second father to me for a long part of my childhood, and I wanted him to meet you as much as I cared for you to meet him. You are an important part of my life, or at least I thought you were until last night, so his opinion about you was quite vital to me. Well, too bad."

Hawkeye's eyes snapped open—Margaret was standing next to his bunk, arms folded, looking down at him without much anger, only sadness and disappointment. He no longer felt angry at her, but at himself, acting childlishly and never listening to her explanations in the first place—though his wounded male pridewould never let him admit it.

"Well, _excuse me_, Margaret, but how could I know that your relationship with this particular general wasn't anything but fatherly-like? You surely didn't expect me to—"

"Accept me, with all my past experiences?" she interrupted with unexpected calmness in her voice. "Take me for what I am? You're right, I didn't expect that, even if I did _exactly_ that for you, which you obviously haven't noticed."

He sat up, cursing his headache, and gave her a heavy look. "What do you want me to do, Margaret? Stand still and watch, while you throw yourself at some guy? Don't blame me for being jealous; he could have been anybody!"

"That's true. But _I'm_ me, and I thought it was me you wanted. Do you want me, Hawkeye? Are you willing to take the risk?"

He looked at her and knew the answer right away, no point to hide it even if that little, envious boy in him kept on crying and kicking around.

"I do."

She smiled at him, sadly, and touched his cheek, stroking her thumb across the stubble on his chin. "I'm happy to hear that. But it doesn't mean we're alright. Not by a long shot."

She sat down on his bunk, wrinkling her nose at the stench of indigested alcohol, and pressed her temples with her fingers, trying to suppress her headache. "Next week I'm going to go to Tokyo with General Ackman, and until then I'd like you to stay away from me. I have something on my mind I need to think over, and with your recent behavior… you're not making it any easier for me."

Hawkeye shivered at the unusual calm and determination in her voice, trying to read her intensions from her face. She smiled weakily at him, and blushed a little, finally returning to her normal skin tone.

"I'm going to have some medical tests done while I'm in Tokyo. And I would really appreciate it if you thought the whole 'thing' we're having over. Because if the results turn out the way I think they will… we're going to have far more in common than we do now."

With this, she left, hugging herself with her arms, head bowed down. Hawkeye fell back on his back and bit his lip, not really believing what he heard.

She couldn't have meant…

She didn't!

Did she?...

0o0o0o0o0o


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Hi guys, me again! Thanks for all the reviews that make me believe in myself and write on; hope this chapter provides answers to all your question :)

PS. This chapter goes with a special dedication for Beahawk, in hope there'll be no more energy slumps for a while ;)

0o0o0o0o0o

People came to him everyday the following week, asking what happened between him and Margaret. He simply shrugged and mumbled something incomprehensible.

Was he really supposed to tell them the truth?

_Oh, well, she thinks she might be pregnant with me, but isn't sure whether she _wants_ to be anymore, now that I acted like such an unbelievable jerk._

Yeah, that ought to do the trick.

He was feeling quite miserable already, thankyousoverymuch.

She wouldn't exactly keep away from him, but there were those little things he didn't even think he would miss, and being deprived of them drove him crazy. Rubbing her back when she felt awful from a headache (there seemed to be quite an intensification of those around). Kissing her goodnight, no matter whether he actually slept with her that night or not. Reading a newspaper to her, while she lay sprawled across his lap, and dozed off on economic news.

Being close, to say it short.

He thought he'd miss the sex most, but that really wasn't an issue. After all, it was something he could have with practically any woman around if he was in need—but Margaret was a unique individual, and it was _her_ he lacked, not some gymnastics for adults.

He tried to convince her into having another conversation with him before her departure, but she was quite determined about not doing so. The only thing that cheered him up was a small, fleeting kiss he received after being told off for what seemed like a thirtieth time.

"It's not _that_ easy for me either," she told him and rubbed his arm soothingly. He looked at her carefully, searching for some signs, any signs, of what might have been happening to her: that proverbial _radiance_, for instance, would be a nice tip-off.

Nothing. Just exhaustion, paleness, and a silent plea for him to understand.

He tried to do his best, but didn't suppose she was content with the final outcome.

When she left, finally, early on a Saturday morning, Potter approached him in the Swamp, and took a glass of supposed martini away from his hand, before producing a piece of paper.

"Three days of R&R in Kimpo," he said curtly. "And another one day pass for the Major. Try to relax a little, Pierce, and talk to her as soon as she flies back."

He felt a wave of gratitude wash over his heart, and gingerly shook Potter's hand. "Thank you, sir, I'm really grateful."

"Thought you might be," the CO chuckled with a warm smile. "Your jeep will be ready in an hour. Now, pack!"

For once in his life, Hawkeye Pierce eagerly obeyed an order.

0o0o0o0o0o

He got off the jeep in front of the biggest hotel in Kimpo, thanked the Corporal that brought him all the way from the camp, and walked into the lobby, planning to get a room before heading off to the air base and checking the details on Margaret's flight from Tokyo in two days time. The plan was quite good, though rather simple, but it failed completely.

First thing he saw upon entering the building was a large couch standing in the very middle of the lobby, and being presently occupied by no one else but Major Margaret Houlihan herself.

As Hawkeye walked in, she raised her head and looked straight at him, strakes of tears visible on her cheeks, her hair in disarray, lips dry and pale. He felt his heart do a somersault and half-ran towards her, kneeling by the couch and taking her hands in his.

"What happened?" he asked, sick with worry. "Why aren't you in Tokyo?"

She blushed, and squeezed his fingers reassuringly. "There was no longer a point of having those tests done," she explained, avoiding his eyes, "and it made me feel quite miserable. I called General Ackman, telling him I won't be able to make it, and wanted to get a room here, but since they only had free doubles, I thought I'd rest here for an hour or so, and look for a jeep to take me back… Where are you going?"

"Just wait here," he said, heading off for the reception desk. He was back in less than five minutes, a key dangling from his finger. "They had no objections for my renting a room for my _fiancée_ and myself," he informed her proudly, picking up her luggage and holding a hand out to her. "Come on, I've got us the only available room with a bathtub."

She brightened up a bit, but still wasn't looking entirely convinced. "What about you? You have no R&R—"

"Au contraire, my dear, our glorious CO granted me three days off, and an additional one for you, hoping we would work things out between us when you come back. And since I've got you here already, and you sure look like you needed to take things slow for a couple of days, why don't we spend some time here? We could rest, talk, grab something fancy to eat, do some shopping—whatever my lady commands."

She smiled weakly and let herself be pulled up from the couch, leaning against his shoulder. "We might try that," she said quietly, and didn't protest as he lead her off towards the stairs.

Their room, an upgraded double on the second floor, had its own bathroom with a promised tub, a large bed covered with soft, warm comforters, a wardrobe and a small round table completed which two well-used armchairs. The main lamp was broken, but Hawkeye happily discovered that the little one on the table wasn't, and it turned out its light gave the room a warm, cozy feeling which the dark-haired surgeon found more than adequate in present circumstances. He suggested his lovely companion to take a bath before dinner and went to run it for her, taking some time to wash his face and hands as he was there.

Coming back into the room, he found Margaret sitting on the edge of their bed, dressed in a robe and clutching her clothes in her hands, eyes fixed blankly upon the wall. Hawkeye walked over to her, dropping to his knees between her legs, and gently replacing a bundle of clothes with his hands.

"Margaret, what is it?" he asked as softly as he could, trying to take the pain away. She blinked, eyes focusing a bit, but still wouldn't look at him.

"When the cramps started earlier today," she said with difficulty, blushing a little, "I knew it wasn't a—I mean, I knew it was a _regular_ thing, and I wasn't—_losing_—"

"I understand," he assured her, hoping it would help her get through the hard part. It obviously did.

"For a second or two I felt relief. Just great, overwhelming relief; and it made me feel awful. Then I thought of you, and I was sorry. Sorry for myself, for you, yes; but most of all—for this baby that wasn't there, even though I hoped it would be. I—didn't realize I wanted it, until it was clear I didn't have it."

She looked at him, taking in his grave expression, eyes full of compassion and warmth, never leaving her face.

"I know it's not the best time to have a baby in general, and that we're probably the best chosen couple to become parents to one, but—I would have wanted it to know you," she finished in a whisper, leaning forward and resting her forehead against his. He smiled and captured her mouth in a quick kiss before standing up and making her follow suit.

"I'm sorry about everything I did," he said solemnly, hugging her close. "I will make it up to you, I promise—but first, be a good girl and take your bath, okay? We wouldn't like the manager to kick us out because of the water overflowing, would we now?"

"We most certainly wouldn't," she agreed with a small smile and left for the bathroom, leaving him with two great tasks at hand: folding her clothes, and arranging dinner.

Before Margaret finished her bathing session, the room service was already there. The Major shook her head in awe at the sight of a real meal: steaks, tomato salad, French fries and a bottle of red wine. She quickly calculated the amount of iron in each dish, and shook her head disapprovingly.

"I'm not anemic, you know!"

"Oh, I _do_ know—" Hawkeye caught the pillow she tossed at him before it could hit the wine bottle, "but the doctor in me suggested it would be nice if you worked on your blood iron level. Besides, this was the yummiest set they offered me."

Margaret brightened up a bit and joined him at the table, allowing her companion to divide the meal into two suitable portions, and pour a generous amount of wine into her glass.

He proposed a toast—'to new beginnings'—and she couldn't disagree with it.

After they have eaten, in comfortable silence, Margaret felt full, content, and awfully tired. She shyly asked whether he mind if she called it the night, and was excused momentarily. Hawkeye felt quite beat up himself; he took on some of Margaret's emotions and kept on trying to release them into the air and make them go away. Forever, if possible.

He made sure she was comfortable, tugging the quilt and blanket around her body, and went to shower. For a while he analyzed his own feelings, asking himself whether he was able to spend the night with Margaret without taking advantage of her in her poor state. The answer was affirmative, which made him relax and exit the bathroom with a happy smile on his face. He took in Margaret's sleeping form, curled in the middle of the bed, before slipping his robe off and climbing on the bed next to her.

As he put his arms around her, she murmured, hugging him back, "I'm not asleep."

He smiled, placing one hand on her abdomen and massaging it gently, guessing that the cramps were probably killing her. She moaned with pleasure and raised her head from his chest to kiss his neck.

"This is nice," she commented, arching into his touch.

"Glad to hear that. I'm a little bit inexperienced in that field."

"You're doing just fine," she assured him, placing her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. She was silent for so long he assumed she'd fallen asleep, but as he tried to move his hand away, she gently touched his arm. "Don't go."

"I'm not going anywhere," he informed her, meaning a lot more than just the massage—and she knew it.

Suddenly she chuckled, and looked up at him. "I honestly can't believe it—we've been in bed together for so long, and you've never mentioned having sex! Is this the first time in history when the great Hawkeye Pierce is not in the right mood?"

He groaned, rolling his eyes, and pressed his hips suggestively into hers for a fraction of second, making her gasp. "There. _Never_ assume I'm not in the mood. I'm just trying, desperately, to be a gentleman, given your condition."

"Thank you," she whispered, nestling closer into him. "Would you tell me a bedtime story?"

He laughed. "I told you one when we were at the aid station, and you _fell asleep_ on me. My pride is deeply wounded, and I'm not sure I could manage another go."

"Please?" she made puppy eyes at him, corners of her mouth twitching from suppressed laughter. "I promise I won't fall asleep."

He pretended to give the idea a thought, then shook his head firmly. "Sorry, no inspiration."

"What about that story you've told me when I was asleep? Would you repeat it now?"

He sure was tempted to, but somehow couldn't find enough courage. "Nah, that just a one-time fling, meant to seduce you into my arms."

"I vaguely remember _being_ in your arms at the time," she pointed out and yawned. Hawkeye kissed the top of her head.

"Sleepy?"

"Maybe just a little bit," she admitted unwillingly. "Promise you won't go anywhere?"

"Never ever."

"Good," she murmured, bringing her left hand up to caress his jaw. "You know, at times like this I really think I lo—" she paused, tensed, and probably bit her tongue, shivering in his arms. He sighed happily, and held her even closer.

"Sometimes I think that, too."

Her head shot up, and a pair of green-grey eyes met his. "You do?"

"Of course. I'm not quite sure I'm ready to voice it right now, but I do think about it. Quite often, I must say."

"Good," she said sleepily and put her head back where it rested. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," he answered, and mouthed another word so that she couldn't hear him, "love."

He stole a look at her, making sure she hadn't noticed, but Margaret was already fast asleep, clutching a handful of his pyjamas and smiling in her sleep. He took a deep breath, feeling very, very happy, without any apparent reason.

And yet, a small voice in his head told him just before he gave into sleep, there clearly _was_ a reason for him feeling the way he did. And he damn sure was going to keep it this way.

0o0o0o0o0o


	8. Chapter 8

"Do we have any plans for today?" Margaret asked lazily, making no attempt to untangle herself from Hawkeye's embrace.

"Sure we do. We stay in bed now, get up when we feel like it, and decide what to do next."

She laughed and snuggled closer to him for a minute or two, before pulling away and sitting up.

"Where do you think you're going, miss?"

"Bathroom," she replied, putting her robe on. "I'll be right back; don't start missing me, will you?"

He grinned at her and fell back against the pillow. He felt more rested and relaxed than he had in days, despite the brutality of the situation that brought them here. He thought about Margaret, and how difficult this whole situation must have been for her, wondering whether there was a way, any way, he could make it up to her.

When she exited the bathroom, still in her robe, he reached out for her and took her in his arms, kissing her brow as she climbed on the bed.

"Will you let me spoil you a bit today?" he asked, running his hands up and down her back in a soothing motion. She purred, nestling her head in the crook of his neck.

"What do you mean: 'spoil'?" she asked slowly and yawned, her breath caressing his neck. He called on his self-control and won yet another battle, though he wasn't sure how long he could possibly keep it up.

"Well, let me think… buy you something nice? Take you out dancing? Make sure you felt just a wee bit happier?"

"I am quite content right now," she stated, resting her chin on her hand and looking up at him. "Still, if you insist on spending money on my account, who am I to disagree?"

Hawkeye grinned at her, finally getting up, quite sure that if he remained in bed he would have demanded things from her he didn't want to force her into doing.

After a long, cool shower, Hawkeye exited the bathroom to find the room empty, a piece of paper laid out on the bed telling him in Margaret's neat writing that she had already went down to the breakfast room. Hawkeye shrugged off his robe and went through his bag in search for something appropriate, finally deciding to match a pair of clean trousers with a black shirt—surprisingly he left all the Hawaiian ones at home.

The first thing he noticed after entering the breakfast hall was Margaret sitting at a table for two with a miserable expression on her face, listening to some Colonel who had occupied the other chair, leaning suggestively towards the Major. She looked up at her friendly doctor as soon as he opened the door, as if she could sense his presence, and gave him a 'help me _now_!' look. Naturally, he walked towards her to comply.

"Darling!" she greeted him with a cheery wave and pulled him down for a chaste kiss. "I was just telling the Colonel how lucky we were to get our R&R at the same time."

"Yes, our CO is really something," he agreed cordially, giving the other man a hard look that eventually made him get up and walk away with an unhappy look on his face. Hawkeye followed him with his eyes, shaking his head disapprovingly.

"Can't I ever leave you alone?" he complained mockingly, his fingers caressing the back of her hand as it lay on the table. She blushed and looked up at him, pleadingly.

"You're not going to walk out on me again, are you?" she asked hesitantly, her fingers intertwining with his. He shook his head firmly.

"No, I'm not—but we should think of something that might just keep the imposters away."

"What do you have in mind?" she questioned, raising a brow.

"Let's just see what the stores at Kimpo have to offer," was his quizzical answer.

0o0o0o0o0o

"This is weird," she hissed at him, tugging on his sleeve and stepping gently on his foot. He poked her playfully on the ribs, and addressed the shopkeeper:

"We're looking for something special for the lady. You know, a thing that would keep other men away, but not exactly… of the binding kind."

The old, wrinkled man beamed at Hawkeye showing all his teeth. "I have just the right thing, kind sir."

He produced a small, lacquered box from under the counter, and opened it to reveal a pendant: a simple band of white gold hanging from an equally simple silver chain. "You can have something engraved on the band, sir, and whenever your lady feels awkward in male presence, she could simply state it's her engagement ring, nah?"

Hawkeye examined the item carefully with an approving look in his eye, and turned to Margaret, presenting her the box. "What do you think? Would you mind wearing something like this?"

"No, not at all. It's beautiful—but can we really afford it?"

"That's really not an issue you should be concerned about," he pacified her, turning back to the salesman. "Now, my dear man, should we haggle about the price…?"

0o0o0o0o0o

"I can _believe_ he made you pay _that much_!" Margaret shook her head in awe, fingering the smooth surface of the ring. Hawkeye shrugged at took a long swig of his martini.

"Well, it was certainly worth the prize—works great, don't you think?"

She couldn't disagree with him.

They were sitting in an Officers' Club just outside the air base: at first they both hoped to find a little more cheerful and civilian-like place to hang out, but since all of those were swarming with enlisted men accompanied by colorful ladies of the oldest profession, they decided to spend their afternoon in a place that was rather crude, but surely far more peaceful than the others they checked out.

Of course, they had to endure one Major and two Colonels who tried to have their way with Margaret while Hawkeye went away to use the facility and order some drinks and snacks, but the Major quickly took advantage of her newly bought piece of jewelry and put the band on her left hand ring finger: a flash of the exquisite metal made the army brass back off without taking on any further attempts.

Nevertheless, Margaret felt quite awkward. Here she was, with a ring given to her by one Hawkeye Pierce, to mark her as _his_, but without any declarations, or mentioning anything in the way of a marriage, or even an engagement.

Not to mention the fact none of them had been able to voice their feelings so far—for which she held no grudge against him. It was wonderful to have him around like this: caring, funny, a little possessive (but who could really blame him for that?), passionate and gentle all the same—but for how long?

She really didn't want to think about it.

She had to.

Some time soon they'd be back at the 4077th, back to their lives as they were before the 'General Ackman incident' as she liked to call it. Which meant… what, exactly? Whatever name she would give to the relationship they were having, she didn't feel bad with it. The reason she came to him in the first place was because she _wanted_ it, and hoped she would be satisfied if she had him that night in the supply tent. She wanted to believe the tension she was feeling was just a fling; however, it turned out to be just a small part of an iceberg-like emotion hidden underneath her strict, serious Major surface.

As Hawkeye helped her to deal with this emotions—in the best possible way, by letting them grow inside her until she couldn't confine them in herself anymore—there came new doubts and questions, especially recently, when Margaret was faced with a possibility of herself being pregnant with Pierce's baby. That was the moment when she first asked herself—would she be happy with this man? Being committed to him inadversably, as a mother to his child, no matter whether he'd chosen to stay with her, marry her, or simply abandon her with all this?

The answer came to her instantly, short and simple: yes, she would.

Then the 'incident' happened, and she couldn't understand why he reacted the way he did. It gradually became clearer, and this very morning, when she saw him looking at the Colonel that sat himself at her table she understood it fully, but still wouldn't believe jealousy could have pushed him to such a behavior. It wasn't until he bought her the ring, without asking her anything else but if she would like to wear it, that she fully realized how scared he must have been all this time.

Not only of some high-brass guy stealing her away—also of her _leaving him_ of her own free will.

She hoped that, by now, he knew she wouldn't. Not for some time, at the very least.

Lost in her thoughts, she didn't see him search for something in his pocket, and manipulating a small object under the table. He actually had to take her hand in his and lean in close enough to invade the most inner circle of her private space to make her snap out of her thoughts and look at him with an apologetic smile.

"Sorry, you were saying—?"

Hawkeye smiled and ran a thumb across the back of her hand. "Actually, I didn't say a thing. I was planning to, though, and I would really appreciate your opinion on the matter."

She nodded, focusing on him, and smiled encouragingly. "What is it, Hawkeye? Must be serious, judging from this look," she added, brushing a gentle finger over his quirked brow. He chuckled and captured her hand, pulling it to his mouth and kissing her knuckles.

"I've been thinking about last night… how we talked, and weren't exactly ready to…"

"I get it; I thought I told you already—it doesn't matter now," she assured him, smiling. She had to admit, it was rather nice to see the one and only Hawkeye Pierce lost for words, if only for a minute or two. Nevertheless, he surprised her yet again.

"What I'm trying to say here, is—even though I cannot seem to force my mouth into pronouncing certain important words, I do feel kind of strange when I think about girls like Ginny Miles, or men like that Colonel at breakfast today, you know? Sometimes I think I wouldn't mind having a board saying 'Property of Margaret J. Houlihan' hanging down from my neck, you know?"

She laughed at the mental image. "You have nothing to worry about. Remember this little thing?" she wiggled her fingers in front of his eyes, showing off the ring. It was his turn to laugh.

"I know, I know… I was just wondering whether you'd mind my wearing this."

He pulled his left hand from under the table and showed her the exact imitation of her band, slightly wider, but evidently made in the very same fashion, resting on his ring finger. "How did you—?"

"Oh, I had quite some time while you were choosing your clothes," he teased, referring to the two hours she'd spend looking for a dress she might wear on their next R&R together, providing there was going to be one. "And since Mr. Chan there had another band of the kind, I figured, what the heck?" He licked his lips nervously and looked at her expectantly. "You like it? Don't think it's too much for now?"

She shook her head, suddenly feeling confident and relaxed. "No, not at all. I think I—need—this. At least some part of me did."

Hawkeye grinned at her and kissed the tip of her nose, oblivious of all the brass crowding the Club. "You know, I could eat you up this instant," he whispered straight to her ear, making her shiver. A sudden idea occurred to her, and she got up hastily, throwing some banknotes on the table.

"Let's go," she commanded, already halfway through to the door. Hawkeye followed her obediently and didn't comment on her actions—at least not until she reached their room, then the room, pulled her bag out of the wardrobe and started to pack.

"Margaret, what on Earth are you doing?" he asked, completely puzzled and a little hurt. She paused in her actions long enough to tiptoe and kiss him chastely on the lips.

"Why don't we go back tonight instead of tomorrow?" she asked suggestively, rubbing his arms with the palms of her hands. "We both wish we could have just a little bit more out of this R&R, and we very obviously can't, given the circumstances, so I thought—why don't we save one day for later, and make sure we won't go crazy over yet another night of _sleep_?"

Hawkeye looked her in the eye, noticing how dilated her pupils were, and swooped her off her feet, falling backwards onto the bed just next to Margaret's half-packed luggage.

"In case I ever have any second thoughts on that 'property of' board … be so kind and remind me about tonight, will you?" he smiled and kissed her properly for the first time that day. She responded in kind, wrapping her arms around his neck, but pulled away much too fast for his liking, both breathing heavily.

"Come on, you tease, or we'll never going to make it before midnight," she panted and jumped to her feet, Hawkeye following suit and haphazardly throwing his things to a sack.

"Oh boy, this is gonna be good—"

0o0o0o0o0o

Radar O'Reilly, being a Corporal, was quite a private person.

Which meant, basically, that he paid great attention to who could see him right before he went to sleep.

Namely, there was no such person, not even his mother.

Radar waited patiently every night for Colonel Potter to retire to his tent, before he started to undress, arrange his glasses in a special case and sing lullabies to his teddy bear (and himself). This night was no exception, and since the Colonel had to fill in some overdue reports, it was way past twenty-three hundred hours before Radar could finally drop his clothing and wrap himself in a blanket, sighing happily at the thought of a good night's sleep.

Just as he reached over for his teddy bear, he heard a jeep engine out in the compound, and briefly thought about getting up and seeing who it was, but since Klinger had gone to pick up some supplies for the 8063rd two hours before, he figured that must have been him, and decided against it.

He yawned and closed his eyes, relaxing, just to jump out of his bed and scream loudly as somebody ran into the office, cursing and laughing at the same time. Radar sat up, disoriented, clutching a blanket to his chest with one arm, and touched around blindly in search for his glasses, until a helpful hand put them right on his nose. He looked up and saw a panting Captain Pierce, accompanied with equally worked up Major Houlihan, standing over his bunk and eyeing him expectantly.

Suddenly the company clerk felt _really_ uneasy.

"Would you sirs mind turning around?" he managed to say, and they complied to his request without too much ado, for which he was more than grateful. Pulling on his robe, Radar stood up with as much dignity as he could manage. "What can I do for you?"

"We would like you to take these passes," Hawkeye said handing him over the papers in question, "and inform Colonel Potter that we both request permission of spending the remaining day of R&Rs granted to us in another location, and at another time. You can also tell him Margaret hasn't gone to Tokyo."

"I'll do it first thing in the morning," said Radar, scribbling in the date and time of handing in the passes. Then he turned, with a frown, and looked at Margaret questioningly. "You didn't have your tests done, Major?" He was present in the room when Margaret placed a call for the Tokyo General, but he wasn't exactly sure what was the _purpose_ of the examination she requested (in a stiff, medical jargon).

Hawkeye roared with laughter and pulled Margaret closer to himself. "No, Radar; you see, it turned out the tests weren't really necessary… But don't worry—I'm gonna keep on trying!"

**The End**

0o0o0o0o0o

**A/N:** Yay, this is it—here ends the main plot. But why haven't I marked the story complete, ask you? That is because they still have one day of R&R to spend, and this can only mean there's an epilogue coming :) Please let me know what you thought about this installment, and thank you all for reading!

Yours,

Lena


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Hi. I'm back, bringing an epilogue, a greater part of which was written yesterday night, resulting in my zombiness at work today—but I don't mind, and I hope you won't either ;)

Now, I would only like to ask everybody who is, or feels, unaccustomed with fiction closer to M rating rather than T, to take a couple of long breaths, and possibly a shower, before they proceed with reading this. Nothing too graphic, I think, but… there sure **is** something in the air, if you catch my Sarah Brightman drift ;)

The story is SLIGHTLY AU, which will be marked in the second paragraph. Hope it doesn't offend anyone's feelings, since I've already altered the given reality quite a bit...

And oh, I purposely chose the present tense for this installment. It gives greater effect to what I wish to write about.

Lastly, my great thanks go to everybody who's been around all the time, supporting me with their reviews, making me smile and laugh at most of them, and generally helped me through my 'I can't write stories, help me' phases. This is for you :)

0o0o0o0o0o

**Out Of Sight, Out Of Heart – Epilogue**

It's a warm night by the end of June 1953. The peace talks are slowly progressing. Still, a great medical conference is being hosted in Tokyo, and every CO of every MASH unit in Korea has attended, bringing their Chief Surgeons and other important staff members along.

It is said that the remaining personnel of the 4077th has gone to the beach this Saturday, but nobody here knows anything about it. The doctors and nurses gathered here, in the heart of Japan, have been attending boring lectures for three days in a row, and tonight is finally the moment they've been waiting for, the closing banquet, for which they have brought tuxedos and evening gowns. The air is damp and smells of flowers, the rain season has just ended the previous week, but you still can feel water drops hanging on molecules of oxygen and nitrogen, gently adding to the usual softness of gathered women's skin.

The excitation is almost visible in the air.

A slim blonde walks slowly down the stairs, making her way towards the hotel restaurant where the dinner and dancing are to be hosted. Her dress is simple, navy blue, its high collar looking a little Chinese in style, but the front cut deep to reveal some creamy skin of her neck and chest. The skirt is tight, finishing just over the wearer's knees, exposing beautifully shaped legs encased in dim-grey stockings, feet covered with a pair of suede shoes, heels not too high, but accentuating the woman's assets all the same. Strands of hair escape from a simple, elegant knot in the back of her head. She wears little make-up, and just a hint of jewelry—beautiful, long, silver earrings and two bands of white gold on her left hand ring finger.

The hall is swarming with women better dressed, wearing heavier make-up, glittering with cheap Korean gold, but it's to her that most of the male eyes turn as she walks by.

The smell of her perfume is intoxicating, but she wears it for one man only.

A General, face red from Japanese vodka-like spirit he drank, approaches her and calls her by her first name. She smiles at him, polite, but cool, and pushes a strand of hair behind her ear with her left hand, light shimmering on her rings. The General is not as stupid as one might think; catching the glimpse of expensive metal on the woman's finger he backs off, biding her good evening—but she no longer hears him.

She has spotted the one man who can move her body and soul to borders she never expected had existed.

He's standing by the bar, accompanied by their CO, who sees her now, too, and smiles broadly, shaking his head with appreciation. She comes closer and allows him to hug her and kiss her cheek—after all, the man has been more of a father to her than a commander. She drifts into her partner's embrace, and he whispers to her ear how much exactly does he like her present outfit, and what a great pleasure it's going to be to relieve her of it later in the evening. She blushes and turns her head away, but her pulse quickens momentarily.

They dance for what seems like hours, every touch a tease, or a plea to end the teasing and start what they both have been wanting since the day they came here. Unfortunately, the thin walls in Japanese hotels give hardly any privacy, and so, they decided to wait till the very last night, when everyone will be too drunk, or still at the party, or engaged into similar activities, to notice.

The night has come, finally, but still they are prolonging the inevitable, wanting to be a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Their CO has met some old friends; he's so deep into conversation now he probably wouldn't have noticed if they disappeared without notice. They don't, however; when the tension between them becomes almost unbearable, it is her who leads their steps towards the old man, and excuses them from further participation in the party: they are both a wee bit tired after having spoken during the last session of the conference, she explains, and he accepts her words, though believes none of them. He bids them goodnight, and returns to his bourbon with a knowing smile on his face, his heart aching secretly for the wife he left home.

Meanwhile, the woman and the man climb the stairs; she leads, him following her, mesmerized by the sensual sway of her hips. Couples on the dance floor, who happen to catch the sight of them, suddenly start feeling much too tight in their clothes.

They know some people know, but they don't care they do.

She opens the door to their room and walks in, leaving the lights off, raising her arms and pulling out one pin from her hair with every step, throwing them in the general direction of a cluttered dresser. Her hair falls down her shoulders like a curtain of gold just as she reaches the window and half-turns towards her companion, a small smile upon her lips, fingertips touching her dress collar. She fingers it slowly, eyes trying to read the man's expression in the darkness, smile still lingering on.

Teasing. Testing.

He moves towards her in one smooth motion, but does not touch her, not yet. He probes the material of her dress close enough to her fingers for her to feel the heat emanating from his body. He moves his face closer and inhales her perfume, before slowly lowering his lips to her pulse in the lightest of kisses.

He undresses her ever-so slowly, his mouth kissing every scrap of skin his fingers have touched—delicately, as if she was an exquisite piece of the best Chinese porcelain. She shivers in anticipation, but doesn't attempt to quicken his actions, savoring the long awaited pleasure.

They have time. Lots of time. And they intend to put it to a good use.

First touch of silken sheets against hot skin is nothing like the sensation she experiences when he finally touches her with greater pressure, hands sliding over the alabaster of her body, pulling her closer to him, claiming her and giving himself to her all the same.

He flips them over, and she rises over him, ascending from the white silk sheets like a nymph, a goddess, her skin perfect, her body humming with waves of their joined passion. He worships her with his every move, never forcing, always giving as much as he can, knowing he will get a whole lot more in return.

It is frenzy. It is heat.

It is love, as it was given to man and woman at the beginning of all time.

They belong to one another, there is no doubt about it. And though they need no assurance, they share their emotions in a sacred dance, bringing each other bliss and completion, time and time again.

It is almost dawn when their passion in finally spent—temporarily, they both know it—and they lie together on the bed, limbs entangled, hands soothing, light kisses exchanged in the dim light. She can feel a wave of sleepiness washing over her and turns in his arms, her back to him, her favorite position to sleep since months now. He embraces her, entwining fingers of his left hand through hers, kissing the tip of her right ear as he watches the last rays of moonlight swim over two white gold bands on her ring finger, one simple and pure, the other decorated with a small diamond. He smiles to himself as she rubs her thumb against his and yawns.

"Goodnight," she whispers into the night.

"Goodnight, Mrs. Pierce," he answers, and they both fall asleep at the same time.

**The End, for good.**

0o0o0o0o0o

**A/N:** My usual question: flames? Candies? I'd prefer a nice book as my reward, thank you ;)


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